


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 1 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Jaime x Brienne Appreciation Week 2016, Modern AU, Remington Steele AU, book!versions more than show!versions of characters, but it's still Gwen and Nik in my head for Brienne and Jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: "Try this for a deep, dark secret: the great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. Follow. I always loved excitement, so I studied, and apprenticed, and put my name on an office. But absolutely nobody knocked down my door. Apparently, a freakishly tall, ugly woman was nobody’s idea of a private investigator! So I invented a superior. A decidedly HANDSOME and MASCULINE superior. Suddenly there were cases around the block. It was working like a charm... until the day HE walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past. And before I knew it, he assumed Jaime Lannister’s identity. Now I do the work, and he takes the bows. It’s a dangerous way to live, but as long as people buy it, I can get the job done. We never mix business with pleasure. Well, almost never. I don’t even know his real name!"





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts), [QuizzicalQuinnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/gifts), [alors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alors/gifts), [Lena_G](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena_G/gifts), [coolhandjennie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolhandjennie/gifts), [Coraleeveritas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coraleeveritas/gifts), [Currawong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Currawong/gifts).



> **A/N1:** For Mikki, Quinn, alors, Lena G, coraleeveritas, currawong, coolhandjennie, and everyone else over at the J/B Online forum who wanted a Remington Steele AU. Here it is…with an ASOIAF tone…I guess…I still hate all of you and your fluffy little plot bunnies, too.
> 
>  **A/N2:** With many fond memories, much love and huge respect for Remington Steele (the show) as well as Pierce Brosnan and Stephanie Zimbalist. Thanks for giving me some of the best television of my life!
> 
>  **Disclaimers:** I, obviously, own nothing in these fandoms. No copyright infringement is intended and I’m just taking the characters of ASOIAF and the universe of Remington Steele out for a party. I’ll return them, mostly unscathed...;D
> 
>  **Warnings:** Ummm…do you have to warn for ‘fuck’ these days??? And I suppose I should, as always, warn for ASOIAF canon-level coarse language. Not your 1980s Remington Steele... ;) OH--and obviously the summary is stolen directly from Remington Steele, so that isn't mine either!!! :D
> 
> For J/B Appreciation Week 2016; Day's theme: Betrayal
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner by justme!!! Send her love on the JB Online Forum (or wherever you can find her - LOL!)

*/*/*/*/*

From the television, the narrator’s calm baritone floats through the living room.

_“King Jaime I Lannister and his queen, Brienne I of Tarth, were the last to take the Westeros Throne in the Year of the Six Monarchs and are the only co-rulers in Westeros history to govern the realm without the situation devolving into civil war.  The current monarchy and most of the existing nobility can trace their lineage back to the first Lannister King and his Queen.  But while they are confirmed historical figures, no physical evidence about them has ever been found—until now._

_Last month, a double tomb was discovered bearing their names above the titles of Goldenhand the Just and Brienne the Beauty.  Who knows what secrets will be revealed about the Age of Magic and its end once excavations are complete?”_

“Come here and watch this,” calls the bald, fat man overflowing the overstuffed armchair.

A golden-haired man strolls into the room, smoothing the right sleeve of his shirt over the wrist of an artificial hand of glimmering gold.  He raises an eyebrow at the man in the chair, who gives him an irritated glare, then turns his attention to the television, where the scene has switched to a bright-eyed, overly energetic reporter smiling professionally at the camera.  Behind her is an intense-looking group of people bustling to and fro.

“That documentary aired six months ago,” the woman happily chirps, “and now the National History Museum is about to open its doors on a new exhibit of artifacts from the Age of Magic, including those recently recovered from the tomb of the first Lannister King and his Queen.  With me is Exhibit Director, Dr. Pia Peckledon.”

A lovely brunette woman appears on the reporter’s left, impeccably dressed and not a hair out of place.  The Exhibit Director smiles charmingly at the camera before turning her lovely eyes on the reporter.

“There’s a lot of excited buzz around this exhibit, Dr. Peckledon,” the reporter burbles.  “What can you tell us about it?”

“Well, Lysa, the artifacts recovered from the tomb and the surrounding area were absolutely remarkable!  And priceless—both in terms of monetary and historical value.  It’s the most significant find since the cellars of the Red Keep!”  Dr. Peckledon looks like it’s all she can do to stop herself from bouncing up and down with glee.  “We’ve combined the artifacts found in the location with others we already had in our collection from the Age of Magic, and we believe everyone—even if you don’t believe magic ever existed!—will learn something and enjoy the exhibit.”

“This exhibit has been three years in the planning, with discoveries from the tomb added at the last minute, delaying the opening by several months,” Lysa continues.  “Security has been a high priority to the museum and joining us now is Ms Bronna Stokeworth of Jaime Lannister Investigations.  Ms Stokeworth, what can you tell us about the security measures put in place here today?”

Bronna smiles and says, “I can’t tell you much, Lysa, but I can assure you that the highest possible standards have been used, supported by the most sophisticated technology available.”

“Is Mr. Lannister here today?”

“As everyone knows, Mr. Lannister seldom makes public appearances however, his most trusted associate, Ms Brienne Tarth, will be happy to answer any questions you may have.”

The reporter’s smile becomes strained as Bronna yanks a tall, square-shaped blonde woman into view and the camera wobbles as the person wielding it hastily adjusts to fit them all into frame. 

The man in the armchair laughs while the golden-haired man’s eyes narrow as he focuses his attention on the new woman. 

Besides being at least a foot taller than the reporter, Brienne Tarth also has the kind of looks that, as the saying goes, are best suited for radio.  The bright light of the camera does nothing to hide any of her flaws.  Her straw-like hair hangs to her shoulders and is not brushed quite as smooth as the other ladies’.  Her suit, while tailored well, did little to hide the breadth of her shoulders but did hide any hint of feminine curves she might have possessed.  She’s pale and freckled with a nose that’s been broken at least once and lips that are slightly too plump to be attractive, even while twisted into a scowl as she glares at Bronna—although she quickly smooths her features into an expressionless mask when she looks at Lysa and Dr. Peckledon. 

“Mr. Lannister, as you know, Lysa, is living in seclusion on the Summer Isles,” she says.  “Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep close tabs over our work!  He has a reputation to uphold, after all.  He is fully aware and has given his personal seal of approval to all of the security measures and systems we’ve implemented for this exhibit.” She looks and sounds both competent and profoundly awkward at the same time, but when she turns and looks at the camera, her eyes—large and blue and as guileless as a child’s—makes the golden-haired man pause as he’s pulling on his tuxedo jacket.

“What do you think?” the man in the chair asks.

“She’s not really dressed for a gala event,” the golden-haired man murmurs mildly as he pulls his jacket over his shoulders, adjusts his cufflinks and straightens his bow tie before checking his appearance in the mirror.  He lightly smooths a stray hair back into place.

“Forget the clothes,” the fat bald man says, sitting in his armchair like a bloated, overfed spider.  “Jaime Lannister is the best at what he does and only hires the best to work for him.  Can you do the job?”

The handsome man turns, his green eyes cool, his smile sharp.  “Like taking candy from a baby,” he says and walks out the door.

*/*/*/*/*


	2. One

“Oh, wipe that scowl off your face,” Bronna says, “you’re scaring the clients.”

Brienne smooths her expression although she can’t quite make it all the way to a smile.

“Why did you pull me on camera?” she hisses as they carefully observe each person entering the museum.  Invitation only, this evening is the brain child of the museum director, Dr. Illyrio Mopatis.  A black tie event for the rich and famous of King’s Landing, an exclusive private screening of the exhibit before it opens to the public, and Dr. Mopatis and Dr. Peckledon are hoping the private showing of all the artifacts coupled with outlandish tales from the Age of Magic will translate into numerous fat donations by the end of the night.

“You’ll have to get used to it, Brienne,” Bronna says.  “Once I marry Joffrey, you’ll have to do all the PR yourself.  _All_ of it!”

Brienne groans as she mentally catalogues the people she recognizes.  All of them future clients, if they do their jobs right—which means she as well as Bronna will have to discreetly mingle through the crowd to build on their network.

“Gods,” she says, turning her head to give Bronna a glimmer of a smile, “I’m going to starve.”

“Probably,” Bronna says drily then suddenly grips Brienne’s arm.  “Gods, take a look at what just walked in.”

Brienne frowns as she glances towards the entrance and freezes.

Smiling down at the slender brunette girl checking his invitation is the most beautiful man Brienne has ever seen.  Tall—almost as tall as her—shoulders that even from this distance seem impossibly broad in a tuxedo that discreetly screams custom-made for his lean frame.  Well-groomed golden hair, long legs, trim waist, chiseled jawline, strong, straight nose, and cheekbones that make her want to weep from the sheer beauty of them...

“Close your mouth before he spots you!” Bronna hisses.  “We’re professionals!”

Brienne closes her mouth with an audible snap just as the man turns his impossibly perfect face towards them.  His eyes flick over them without interest and Brienne feels ridiculously grateful for her ability to blend into the background even though she’s six-three in her stocking feet, broad and ugly.  The gorgeous man strolls with feline grace through the museum foyer and into the exhibit hall, and she’s both ridiculously relieved and saddened to see him go.

Bronna sighs.  “Great eye candy,” she says dreamily.  “We need to get a picture with him.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “We’re working, Bronna.”

“Oh, come on—do you really expect any of this lot is going to make off with any of these priceless objects while everybody’s here?”

“Of course not,” Brienne growls, “but this is the perfect opportunity for someone to case the joint and suss out the security measures that we’ve put in place.”

“‘Case the joint’,” Bronna snorts.  “Are we in some movie from the forties?”

Brienne sighs.  “Just do your job, Bronna.”

Bronna gives Brienne a fondly exasperated look.  “So long as you also do yours.  We need new clients, not to mention maintaining existing ones.  Go and mingle, Brienne.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne strolls through the well-dressed and well-heeled crowd, exchanging polite small talk with those she knows, answering questions about her illusive boss, Jaime Lannister, keeping a sharp eye on the catering staff from the Brave Companions Catering Company, all while catching glimpses of the remarkably handsome, golden-haired man who had taken her breath away.  He’s drifting through the crowd, smiling and chatting with an always-full glass of expensive champagne in his left hand.  Brienne shudders to think of the amount of money the museum is spending on this gala and wonders if this crowd will be impressed enough with the exhibit to loosen their wallets to such an extent that the museum will break even on the costs.  Then again, Dr. Peckledon had explained that all they wanted was enough to top up what they expected to take in when the exhibit opens to the general public.  Anything to do with the Age of Magic is always popular, Brienne was told.

As if Brienne’s thoughts conjured her, Dr. Peckledon appears by her side.  It’s the first time Brienne has seen her since the gala began and the woman’s eyes are sparkling as she grins from ear to ear.

“Wonderful turn out,” Pia says.

Brienne nods, scanning the crowd once more.  The catering staff are working briskly and discreetly, carrying trays of elegant finger food or long fluted glasses filled with champagne.  Her gaze catches again on the golden-haired man, who’s watching her with a thoughtful expression.  Her own eyes narrow before she continues her scan.

“Have the donations been what you expected?” Brienne asks absently.

Dr. Peckledon nods happily.  “Better!  Of course, everyone enjoys a love story and combined with the Age of Magic—well!  And you know, all the scholars agree that the first Lannister King and his Queen were definitely a love story for the ages.”  Pia suddenly frowns, a crease marring her forehead that Brienne admits only makes her look even more adorable.  “Tarth,” Pia says thoughtfully, “Tarth.  I’m assuming you’re a descendant?”

Brienne nods.

“Are you an heir to throne?” Pia asks with a musical giggle.

Brienne’s chuckle is polite.  “I’m somewhere in the triple digits in the line of succession, which is appropriate, I suppose.  It was their third child, after all, who was given the isle of Tarth and took Tarth as his last name.  My family tree can be traced back through third and second sons, and there may even be one or two fourth sons in there, as well.”  She gives Dr. Peckledon a rueful shrug.  “Not even close to inheriting the throne, unfortunately.”

“Or fortunately!” a deep voice says from behind them, and they both turn.  Brienne’s eyes widen as she meets the green-eyed gaze of the golden-haired man she’s been discreetly watching all evening. “According to the histories, the throne of Westeros was never a comfortable seat,” he says, and he is even more handsome up close than he appeared at a distance.

Dr. Peckledon’s eyes widen before she lights up and smiles.  “Ruling was always difficult, true, but after the Age of Magic, the realm calmed significantly.”

“Most likely because the vast majority of the highborn and royal Houses had been destroyed,” the man says drily, then gives them a smile of knee-weakening beauty.  “Petyr Joshua,” he says, carelessly hooking his champagne glass onto his artificial gold hand and holding out his left one for her to shake.

“Dr. Pia Peckledon.  I’m the—”

“Exhibit Director.  I recognize the name.”  He turns his gaze to Brienne and raises an eyebrow as he holds out his hand.

She swallows heavily, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks.  She curses her fair skin as his expression becomes amused at her obvious discomfort. 

“Brienne Tarth,” she manages to say.  She clasps his hand and releases it as quickly as she can.  Even so, the heat of his touch seems to linger against her skin and she’s suddenly, humiliatingly aware of her calloused hands and hopes her palm didn’t feel as damp as it seems right now.

Petyr doesn’t seem to notice as he turns his gaze to Pia, who’s smiling radiantly at him.

“You’re only the third person I’ve ever heard of to have a gold hand,” she says.

He glances down at his hand as he snags his champagne glass from it and shrugs.  “I’ve always been a fan of the first Lannister King,” he says, then frowns.  “Who’s the second?”

“Also a Jaime Lannister,” Pia says and sends Brienne an arch look.

Brienne clears her throat, feeling the flush in her cheeks intensify.  She’s always been a bad liar.  “Yes, Mr. Lannister—owner of Jaime Lannister Investigations—also has a gold hand, and for the same reason.”

“Ah, yes.  I’d heard the world-renowned Mr. Lannister was providing security services tonight.  I was hoping you would point him out to me.”

“Mr. Lannister has retired from public life,” Brienne says, and hopes the man won’t ask many more questions.  She needs Bronna here to lie for her.  She smiles her most professional smile.  “I am, however, his most trusted associate and would be happy to answer any questions you may have about our work here tonight or about the firm in general.”

His eyes are amused as he flicks them over her red face and bulky body.  “Yes, I saw you on television this evening.  I thought mayhaps the importance of this exhibit would draw the man out of his seclusion.  He is descended from King Jaime and Queen Brienne, is he not?”

“I believe most Lannisters are, but yes, he’s directly descended from them through their second son,” Brienne says briskly, thinking she can’t possibly get any more red than she already is.    “I’m sure Mr. Lannister won’t mind if I admit that he was tempted, however, he has no desire to see the exhibits as part of a crowd.”

“Nor do I,” Petyr says and turns to Pia with a devastatingly charming smile.  “Mayhaps you would be so kind as to provide me with a personal tour?  Besides the fascinating items on display, I’m interested in knowing about those artifacts which were considered too unimportant to include in the exhibit.”  His voice lowers to a seductive purr.  “I’ve always been fascinated by the Age of Magic.”

Brienne’s eyes widen while Pia practically melts onto the floor.  “I’d be honored.”  Dr. Peckledon says, breathless.

Petyr turns his green eyes to Brienne.  “Ms Tarth, would you care to join us?”

Petyr’s green eyes are challenging and Brienne’s eyes narrow in response as her galloping hormones screech to a halt and her detective instincts take over.  Something’s not quite right with the handsome man and the way he’s looking at her, and not just because he’s invited her to be an awkward third on what she knows Pia was expecting to be a private excursion.  Likely ending in a room with an empty horizontal surface readily available.

Petyr’s mouth curves into a smirk and there’s a mocking gleam in his eyes, and Brienne can’t quite decide if it’s because he’s up to something, or if he expects her to refuse the invitation, or if he’s just another man amused by her physical appearance and has decided to toy with her because of it.

The latter thought causes her to raise her chin and look down at him from her slight height advantage. 

“I’d love to,” she says and pointedly ignores Pia’s disappointed glance in her direction.  Brienne has no desire to be a cock-block, but there’s something far too smooth about the man.

Her instincts only go into higher alert when Petyr gives her what seems to be a genuinely pleased smile at her acceptance.

“Then lead on, Dr, Peckledon,” he purrs.

“Oh, Pia, please,” she says, and giggles.

Brienne grits her teeth, already regretting her decision.  This is going to be unbearable.

*/*/*/*/*

The tour through the back rooms of the museum goes swiftly.  Pia walks them through room after room where artifacts are carefully cleaned and stored.  She shows them a pouch filled with dust which is supposedly the remains of a magical glass candle.  They stroll through a room filled with books, some of which are rumored to have been rescued from the Citadel even while it burned.  They pause by a door secured by a number keypad where, she tells them, the room beyond holds an unidentified animal bone that some scholars believe belonged to a dragon.

“Not that anyone has managed to prove that claim in any meaningful way,” she says with a charming laugh as she leads them away.

“Although not from lack of trying,” Petyr says with an equally charming smile.  The unrelenting dueling charisma is giving Brienne a headache as she trails along behind like some hulking bodyguard.  Petyr continues, “Are you the Dr. Peckledon who published a paper a few months ago about the aerodynamic properties of the Targaryen dragons and based the size of one such dragon on a jawbone with a tooth housed here in the museum?”

Pia’s smile vanishes.  “That would be Dr. _Josmyn_ Peckledon,” she says, her voice chill.  “My soon-to-be-ex-husband.”

“Is he here tonight?  My brother has always loved dragons and I thought I might ask some questions on his behalf.”

Now Pia’s expression is downright cold.  “Jos no longer works here,” she says shortly, “and he most _definitely_ wasn’t invited tonight.”

“Ah,” Petyr purrs, “my apologies.”

Pia’s smile returns although it is slightly strained.  “No harm done, Mr. Joshua.”

“Petyr, please.”

They continue their tour and by the time they return to the main foyer, Brienne thinks she’s going to shatter her teeth if she grits them any harder.  But the tour has only made Brienne more confused than ever.  Petyr Joshua is smoothly attentive to everything Pia shows them but not _overly_ interested.  He truly seems to be nothing more than a history geek who used his charm to get a behind-the-scenes look at an exhibit that interested him.

She hides a sigh and pushes her suspicions away.  Besides, Bronna’s been working the room alone long enough.

Brienne turns to her companions.  “I should go find my associate.”

“There’s no need to leave us,” Petyr says.

“Well, unlike the guests, we’re actually here to work, and I’ve been away from the main areas for too long as it is,” Brienne says with what she hopes is a gracious smile.  She’s never been good at the light social small talk so necessary at events like this.  It’s one of the reasons she brought Bronna into the firm in the first place.

“Surely you can work and still accompany us round the exhibit hall?” he says, a wheedling tone to his voice and Brienne hesitates.

She catches Pia’s gaze, and that woman gives her a significant glare and gives her head a slight shake.  Brienne is suddenly gripped with an imp of mischief.  She gives them both a tight-lipped smile and nods.

“Of course,” she says, and bites back an urge to laugh as Pia’s glare intensifies then quickly disappears when Petyr turns to look at her.  As they wander the exhibit, Brienne almost feels guilty and thinks she may have to manoeuvre her companions into an isolated office and lock them in for an hour.  Maybe that would make Pia forgive her enough to recommend Jaime Lannister Investigations to others.

For some reason, the thought of Pia and Petyr fucking disturbs her and she scowls as she trails along behind them to stop in front of a glass case, given place of honor at the centre of the exhibit.  Encased in the glass is a magnificent gold sword hilt glinting in the light from discreetly positioned spotlights inside the walls of the case.  As always, the hilt takes Brienne’s breath away.  It’s a beautiful thing and looks as if it was made yesterday, not well over two thousand years ago.

“This sword hilt wasn’t found in the tomb itself,” Pia is saying, in her best tour-guide voice, “but it was found in the same mausoleum.  Scholars are still analyzing the markings and trying to determine if the hilt belonged to one of the two legendary swords that the stories say were used by the King and Queen:  Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow.  “Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail were longswords, were they not?  And Widow’s Wail was slightly smaller than Oathkeeper, according to legend.”

Petyr gives her an approving smirk as he nods.  “This hilt seems too large for either, I agree.  This seems more likely to have been the hilt of a greatsword.”

This time Pia’s smile is not just flirty but impressed.  “You know your swords, ser,” she purrs and it’s all Brienne can do not to roll her eyes.

Petyr’s smile is equally flirtatious and utterly charming.  “I shall have to show you my collection.”

Now Brienne does roll her eyes and, of course, the cursed man catches her.  He raises his eyebrow and his smile now is both challenging and mocking.  She flushes, grits her teeth and schools her expression into one of professional interest—which only makes him huff a mocking chuckle before he returns his attention to the Exhibit Director.  An amused grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as they stroll to the next exhibit.  Brienne rides out her embarrassment by envisioning her fist smashing into his gorgeous face.  Her workout in the morning is going to be brutal but oh so satisfying.

“Now, here’s something else still being debated by historians and archaeologists,” Pia says, pausing by two small squares of paper, displayed behind UV-filtered glass.  Above the case is an artist’s rendition of the first Lannister King and his beautiful bride.  Brienne stares at it and wonders how two such gorgeous people ended up with a descendant who looks like her.

She returns her attention to Pia, who’s saying, “Both the King and Queen had one of these papers tucked into their hands.  It’s amazing the pieces have survived, although being locked in an airless tomb for the last two thousand years certainly helped.”

Both Petyr and Brienne lean in for a closer look, their shoulders brushing.  But it’s written in the Old Common Tongue and while some words look familiar, Brienne can’t quite make them out.

Pia says, “We believe these were written by two different people, but each says the same thing and—honestly—I think they’re two of the most personal and romantic artifacts we’ve ever recovered from that time period, even if we don’t yet completely understand their meaning.”

Petyr and Brienne exchange a puzzled glance then turn inquisitive eyes to Pia.

Pia delicately taps an elegant fingernail against the glass and says, “Both papers list the same locations and dates:  the Quiet Isle, the Great Sept of Baelor, Highgarden, Casterly Rock, the Red Keep, between Moat Cailin and the Twins, and then the Quiet Isle once more.”  She sighs, frowning.  “There were no battles on the Quiet Isle during their lifetime and the date beside the Great Sept is several months before the first city of King’s Landing was destroyed.  There’s a small but growing school of thought that the dates and locations are referencing something more personal, especially considering where these pieces were found, but the theory has caused heated debate in academic circles.”

“You said this was the most romantic artifact?” Petyr asks, frowning down at the twin pieces of paper, and Brienne’s heart gives a little lurch as their eyes meet in another puzzled look.

“We’ve only just translated the last of the text,” Pia says with a brilliant smile.  “Beneath the list of dates and locations, it says, ‘Wherever we go, we go together’.”

*/*/*/*/*

The rest of the guided tour goes quickly and Brienne finally disengages herself from Petyr and Pia to go in search of Bronna.

She stops to exchange a word or two with the son of a former client, unfortunately standing beside a former antagonist.  Theon Greyjoy glares from his place beside Robb Stark and she knows he hasn’t forgotten the paternity suit she helped that poor ship captain’s daughter win against the Bad Boy of Pyke.  Robb, on the other hand, is more welcoming, and she asks after his mother, Catelyn, Brienne’s first client.

Well.

Jaime Lannister Investigations’ first client, she should say, although no one but Brienne knows it.

Brienne takes her leave then speaks briefly with Dr. Mopatis, assuring him she has seen nothing suspicious.  She once again pays careful attention to the employees of the Brave Companion’s Catering Company and nods at the owner, Vargo Hoat, as she passes him.  Brienne thinks the food must be adequate although she can’t quite bring herself to try it.  Hoat is thin to the point of gauntness and Brienne cannot quite bring herself to trust the talents of a chef who doesn’t seem to sample his own food.  Although she has to admit the Dothraki who apparently did the cooking tonight is more than large enough to ease any such worries on her part.

She finally finds a disgruntled Bronna.

“You certainly spent enough time with that gorgeous hunk of man,” Bronna grumbles.

“Dr. Peckledon was with us the entire time,” Brienne says.  “It took forever for me to extricate myself from them.”

Bronna raises an eyebrow.  “Dr. Peckledon wanted you along as chaperone?”

“He did, I think.”

Bronna laughs at that and Brienne can’t help but chuckle a little as well.

“I’m thinking of locking them in a storeroom together to make it up to her,” Brienne says.  “Dr. Peckledon is the one who hired us, after all.”

“I don’t think I would be much of a thank you present,” Petyr’s deep voice says behind her and she slams her eyes closed and cringes as she pales, then flushes.

Bronna, on the other hand, peers round Brienne’s bulk and boldly eyes the golden-haired man.

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” she says, then laughs and holds out her hand.  “Bronna Stokeworth.”

“Petyr Joshua.  Are you going to turn and face me, Ms Tarth?” he asks with a lilt of laughter in his voice.  “I did not think you so craven.”

That makes her straighten her shoulders and she turns with a determined air, even though her face is still glowing with heat.

“I apologize, Mr. Joshua,” she says.

He laughs.  “No need to apologize—I _was_ using you as a chaperone and I suppose I would deserve to be locked in a storeroom with the woman I was attempting to deflect.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow.  “You were not trying to deflect her very much,” she says suspiciously.

Petyr shrugs his elegantly clad shoulders.  “She’s pretty.  I’m just not interested in a storeroom tryst.  Not tonight, anyway.”

His gaze linger on Brienne’s and she blinks and scowls in confusion while trying to ignore Bronna’s interested face.  “Are you on your way out, Mr. Joshua?” she asks.

“Yes, I am.  I wanted to thank you for humoring me, and to ask you to pass along a message to your employer.”

Brienne freezes.  “My employer?” she says blankly.

“Jaime Lannister?  The owner of Jaime Lannister Investigations?”

“I know who he is,” she snaps then, more calmly, “what message?”

He smiles, his eyes cold and mocking.  “Tell him to remember how much fun we had during that spring break in Dorne.  Maybe that will convince him to get out of his house.”

*/*/*/*/*


	3. Two

“You told me Jaime Lannister didn’t exist!” Bronna snaps as Brienne collapses on the couch beside her, a pint of chocolate ice cream and two spoons in hand.

“He’s lying,” Brienne says flatly and puts a large scoop of ice cream in her mouth.

“Well, I certainly hope he’s lying!” Bronna says, snatching the ice cream from Brienne’s hands and taking her own large spoonful.  “ _You told me Jaime Lannister didn’t exist!”_

“Well, I’m sure _a_ Jaime Lannister exists—it’s not exactly an uncommon name!”

“So you’re saying he’s just mixed up his Lannisters?”

“No, I’m saying he’s deliberately lying.  The question is why.”

Brienne reaches over and scoops out another spoonful of ice cream while Bronna looks thoughtful as she takes another bite.

“What did he say when you were going round with Pia Peckledon?” Bronna says.

Brienne shrugs.  “He talked about swords—apparently, he’s a collector.  He talked about legends from the Age of Magic.  He’s not a believer, by the way.  He said his brother loved dragons.”  She frowns and grabs back the ice cream.  “He flirted relentlessly with the woman,” she growls round a mouthful of ice cream.  “I don’t know why he insisted on dragging me along with them.”

Bronna sighs.  “What do you want to do?”

Brienne shrugs again.  “I’m going to have Sam run a background check on the man, what else?”

*/*/*/*/*

The museum is silent and still, quiet except for the usual creaks and groans that can be heard in any building.

The man creeps through the building, dressed head to toe in black.  Nothing of his face is showing except his eyes as he works, skillfully blinding or disabling each security system as he makes his way ever closer to his goal.

He steps silently up to the display stand in the centre of the exhibit and stares down at the round circle cut into the glass and the empty case.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne drives like a maniac to the museum and feels like she’s out of the car almost before it stops moving.  She jogs up to the police officer standing guard at the foot of the marble stairs behind the crime scene tape blocking her way.

“Brienne Tarth,” she says, “private investigator with Jaime Lannister Investigations.”  She digs in her jeans pocket for her identification.

The police officer nods.  “They’re expecting you,” he says, and lifts the crime scene tape.

She ducks under and jogs up the marble steps and into the foyer.  Her steps slow when she sees Chief Detective Randyll Tarly.  If anything, his cold eyes grow colder with every step she takes towards him.

“You fucked up, Tarth,” he says flatly.

“What’s happened?” she snaps.

“The sword hilt has been stolen.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow.  “What about the security systems we put into place?”

“Like I said, you fucked up.  Half of them were disabled and the other half malfunctioned.”

“Impossible,” she says flatly.  “Sam designed those systems himself.”

“That explains everything, then.  He’s always been an incompetent idiot.”

“He’s your son!”

“He’s no son of mine.”  Tarly’s smile is cruel.  “Not that it matters.  You and that useless fat bastard will soon be out of a job.”

Brienne frowns.  “What do you mean?”

Tarly tilts his head towards the exhibit hall.  “Your boss is in there, and he’s ready to take your head.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s glower is enough to make even Dr. Illyrio Mopatis take a step back but the subject of her glower, the man now calling himself Jaime Lannister instead of Petyr Joshua, simply raises an eyebrow when he sees her.

“What’s happened,” Brienne barks, “and who are you?”

The golden-haired man smiles, and the asshole looks even better dressed in tight black clothing than he did in his tux.  “You can stop the charade, Ms Tarth,” he says, his voice a smooth purr, “I’ve had to tell them my true identity.”

“Your _true_ —” Brienne yelps but stops abruptly when the man grips her upper arm in a vice-like grip.

“If you could give us a moment?” he says to the others—Dr. Mopatis, Dr. Pia Peckledon, and Chief of Police Eddard Stark—and drags her aside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Brienne says.  Loudly.

“Saving your sorry ass, although I don’t know why,” he hisses.  “Now keep your voice down if you don’t want me to tell all these nice people the truth about Jaime Lannister.”

That gives her pause and she scowls.  “What truth?” she hisses back.  “You broke into this museum to steal that sword hilt!”

“Yes, and it was already gone when I got here!  Now I need your help to find it again!”

“You’re a thief!”

“I’m Alyxandre Dyle with the Westeros Bureau of Investigation, you stubborn wench,” he growls, “and unless you want me to prove to all these very powerful people that your Jaime Lannister is a myth, go along with me!”

But—”

“ _Brienne!_ ”

Her name on his lips stops her and she stares, blinking uncertainly.

“That’s Chief of Police Ned Stark,” Petyr—no, Alyxandre—growls.  ‘You know his stick-up-the-ass reputation.  Do you _really_ think he’s going to look kindly on you and your colleagues perpetrating a fraud in order to gain clients?”

She pales then flushes.

“Jaime Lannister is a real person,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

Alyxandre rolls his eyes.  “Gods, you better let me do the talking.  You can’t lie worth shit.”

She glares but she knows he’s right.  “Fine,” she growls, “but don’t think this is finished.”

“Of course not,” he mutters drily and follows her back to their angry audience.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s anger boils but the cursed man is right:  her inability to lie is her greatest weakness.  She reluctantly allows Petyr—no, Alyxandre—no, _Jaime!_ —to do the talking and restricts herself to nodding at the appropriate moments.

Jaime, on the other hand, never misses a step.

“As I’ve already explained—several time, Chief—whenever my associates custom design a security system, I test it by attempting to break it,” he’s saying now.  “It’s part of our extremely robust quality control processes.  Unfortunately, I was unable to do the tests before the opening gala.”  He shrugs with a self-deprecating grimace.  “And I’ll admit, I did it for the sheer challenge of it.  I haven’t been off the Summer Isles in a long time and my skills have gotten rusty.  Anyway, I thought there was no harm in doing my tests after the fact, right?”

Pia nods, a still-stunned look on her face while Dr. Mopatis, Chief Stark and Detective Tarly look supremely skeptical.

“You still committed break-and-enter,” Stark says flatly.  “That’s a felony.”

“Oh, we don’t want to press charges, do we?” Pia says hurriedly.  She leans over and hisses, “He’s _Jaime Lannister_ , for the gods’ sake!”

Dr. Mopatis eyes Jaime then Brienne and sighs.  “No.  If it was part of their quality control…?” he trails off and stares hard at Brienne.

“Yes,” she says, too loudly, she thinks and tries not to cringe.  “Not that we usually do our quality control after the fact…”

“Oh, no,” Jaime says smoothly.  “This was an unusual situation.”  He smiles at Pia, sensing weakness, Brienne thinks cynically.  “Unfortunately, I caught the Meereenese Knot Flu and wasn’t well enough to test the security systems before they were installed.  Now, I have the utmost confidence in Ms Tarth and my other employees, but…” he heaves a dramatic sigh.  “I have a reputation to uphold.  I simply _had_ to test it all myself.  Plus you were right, Dr. Peckledon; I also couldn’t resist seeing the exhibit for myself.  I’ve always had a fondness for the first Lannister King and his Queen.”

Skepticism rolls off their audience so strongly Brienne wonders how she isn’t knocked off her feet by it.

“You won’t mind giving us your fingerprints then,” Tarly says, his voice flat.

“I’m not sure what for,” Jaime replies.  “I’ve already admitted to breaking in.  I did wear a glove so you won’t find any fingerprints, and—” he holds up his gold hand with a rueful chuckle.  “I doubt you’ll find any prints from this.”

“So you’re _refusing_ to give us your fingerprints?” Tarly pounces.

Jaime grins.  “I didn’t say that!  It’s a waste of time, but if you’re panting for them, I’ll let you take them right now.”

His smile is almost beatifically confident and Brienne’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, please, detective,” Illyrio says, “don’t waste your time!  I’m flattered—and grateful!—the great Jaime Lannister came out of seclusion just for our little exhibit!  And that he will lead this investigation into the theft himself!”  Illyrio’s cold eyes flick over Brienne and he dismisses her with a sniff.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne drives in angry silence to the luxurious offices of Jaime Lannister Investigations.

Alyxandre sits beside her, alternating between brooding frowns out the window and amused glances in her direction.  Neither of them speak until they’re inside her office.

“Now.  Explain,” she snaps.

“Alyxandre Dyle.  I’m an agent with the WBI’s Art Theft Prevention Task Force.”

“You broke into that museum to steal that sword hilt!”

“Yes, so I could use it to track back to a notorious dealer of stolen historical artifacts!”

“Who?”

“Nobody knows his real name,” Alyxandre sighs as he slouches down into a chair.  “I know him as Tywin.  He has a group of recruits who steal the artifacts and pass them along to other contacts who pass them to others and so on and so forth.”  He runs a hand through his golden hair and even though she doesn’t trust him for a minute, Brienne’s knees tremble at the sheer beauty and power of the man, even dressed in a black turtleneck and slim-fitting jeans instead of a tuxedo.

She’s suddenly, painfully aware of her grubby jeans and t-shirt she’d dragged on after she got the call.  She’d been in an ice-cream-binge-induced deep sleep and knows she looks it.

“So you’re undercover?” she asks, shaking off her distraction.

He nods.  “My mission was to steal the hilt, plant a microchip in it and then pass it along to my contact.  Then we—my handler and I—would follow where it went and hopefully finally catch Tywin red-handed.”

Brienne frowns.  “But somebody else got to it first.”

Alyxandre shrugs. “It’s my first truly big job for Tywin’s outfit.  Mayhaps my contact inside the organization didn’t trust my abilities and sent somebody else to steal it first.”

“Or mayhaps your cover is blown.”

His smile is as sharp as a knife.  “I’d already be dead if that were the case,” he says drily.  “Tywin is not a forgiving man.”

“Won’t your cover about being Jaime Lannister also be blown once the police run your fingerprints through the system?  Aren’t all WBI agents in the database?”

Alyxandre pushes himself to his feet.  “Not when they’re deep undercover,” he says.  “We should get some rest.  Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.”

Brienne shrugs and pulls out her cell phone.  “You can sleep if you want,” she mutters, “but we have a reputation to protect.  We have the video feed from the museum downloaded on to our own servers.  It’s part of our ‘quality control processes’, at least for the first week after we install a system.”  She puts the phone to her ear and gives Alyxandre a steady look.  “We’ll be able to see everyone who broke into that museum tonight.  _Everyone._ ”

*/*/*/*/*

Samwell Tarly yawns widely, rubs his eyes again and gives Alyxandre a look that’s a combination of suspicion, fascination and fear.

“I’ve cued up the video to when the last of the museum staff left and the main lights went out,” Sam says.  His voice quavers a little and he swallows heavily.  He’s young and overweight, his buttocks and thighs spilling over the edges of his chair.  He’s also bright and sweet, a hard-worker and a wiz with computers and security systems, and Brienne is extremely fond of him.  How an asshole like Randyll Tarly managed to raise a nice kid like Sam has always confounded her.

Brienne nods as Bronna and Alyxandre pull their chairs closer.

Sam glances round then hits fast forward.

An hour passes on the screen, then two, then there’s a crouched black-clad figure scurrying through the museum grounds and the video feed goes dead several moments later.

“That was me,” Alyxandre says thoughtfully, “but I didn’t get into the museum again until four hours after the last employee left and the security guards had completed at least two patrols.”

The others all turn and frown at him.  “Four hours?”  Brienne asks.  “Are you certain?”

“When you’re breaking into a heavily secure location, you tend to pay attention to the time.  Yes, I’m certain.”

Brienne flushes and turns to Sam, who’s already returning to the beginning of the video.

They watch again, all of them leaning forward, watching carefully.

This time Brienne sees it:  a discreet clock on the wall in one of the feeds, almost out of frame.

“There,” she says, and points it out to the others.  They watch at normal speed and see the clock jumps from 1:30 to 2:30 from one frame to the next.

Sam stops the video and they all lean back.  Brienne sees Alyxandre’s amused grin from the corner of her eyes and she turns and glares at him.

“I don’t see how this amusing,” she growls.

“You are all amusing,” he says without any sign that her glare bothers him.  “The feed was down for an hour,” he says, “and none of the systems you put in place were tripped and no one was caught on camera.  Even I was caught for a brief moment before I could turn off the feed.  What does that tell you?”

Brienne’s glare sharpens.  “The same thing it tells you,” she snarls.  “It’s an inside job.”

Alyxandre nods his golden head.  “It also tells me there’s something else missing from the museum.”

Now they all simply stare at him.  He gives them a bland smile, his green eyes cool.

“They used a glass cutter to get the hilt,” he says.  “It’s a matter of moments to cut the glass, take the hilt, restart the security cameras and leave the museum, all while avoiding the security guard, who should have been at the opposite end of the museum anyway.  Fifteen minutes, maybe thirty, tops.  Definitely not an hour, even for an amateur.  So what were they doing all that time?”  He raises an eyebrow.

Brienne grits her teeth and nods.  “I’ll call Dr. Mopatis.”

“No,” Alyxandre says.  “Inside job, remember?”

“Gods, not Tarly!” she groans.

“Definitely not the police!  They already think you did it.”

“ _What?_ ” Brienne’s screech causes the others to wince and shift their chairs away from her.

“Makes sense to the police,” Alyxandre says with a shrug.  “Low level flunkies for the great Jaime Lannister, tired of being paid peanuts, decide to go into business for themselves.”

“Low-lev—you—you— _you_!”

He raises his hand in self-defense.  “I’m simply telling you what they’re thinking!  The fact that Jaime Lannister is always conveniently behind the scenes is also suspicious to them.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow.  “Is that why you jumped on the chance to steal Mr. Lannister’s identity?”

His smile is sharp, his eyes cold.  “We all know there is no Mr. Lannister to complain if I do.”  He tilts his head towards a silent Sam.  “He’s not the only one who knows how to use a computer.”

Brienne grinds her teeth.  “Then what, exactly, are you suggesting, Mr. Dyle?”

“Mr. Lannister—please.  I see I have a lot to teach you about working undercover.”  He leans closer, his expression challenging.  “The first lesson is you never break character, even when alone.”  He leans back and smiles beneficently at them all.  “I’m suggesting we don’t tell anyone at all—yet.  You’re detectives, aren’t you?  Isn’t solving crime part of the job description?”

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Three

Brienne grits her teeth as she pulls the car to a stop and gets out, her unwelcome companion following her like a sleek golden lion.  Only with a little less mane, she thinks and fights the urge to scream.

“I always enjoy returning to the scene of the crime,” Alyxandre—no, _Jaime_!  Jaime, Jaime, _Jaime_!—says drily, and she slides him an angry glance.

“Aren’t you a WBI agent?” she asks, her voice low as they nod at the uniformed police officer guarding the perimeter before bending to slip under the crime scene tape.

“Which is why I enjoy it,” he says with a teasing grin.  But she’s getting used to his charm and good looks now, she tells herself, and simply gives him a suspicious glare.

Dr. Peckledon meets them in the foyer and almost throws herself into Alex—Jaime’s—arms.  He staggers back and Brienne catches his dismayed expression before he smooths it away and gives Pia comforting pats on the back even as he tries to pry the woman away from him.

“Oh,” Pia sniffles, wiping tears from her large eyes as she blinks sorrowfully up at him, “I’m sorry—but it’s just so _awful_!”

“We’ll find the person who stole the sword hilt,” Brienne says gruffly, shifting uncomfortably and trying not to resent the fact that even in tears, the smaller woman is _still_ pretty.

Pia turns, vehemently shaking her head.  “No, no!  That’s not what I mean!  Dr. Mopatis has been kidnapped!”

Brienne’s jaw drops as she and Jaime exchange equally appalled looks.  “ _Kidnapped?_ ”

Pia nods frantically.  “His office has been ransacked and there’s _blood_!”

“Take us there,” Brienne says and Pia nods and leads the way.

*/*/*/*/*

They peer into a spacious office with Illyrio Mopatis’ name on the door.  The room is in complete disarray, with desk and files drawers ajar and the contents strewn throughout the room.  In front of the desk, there’s a pool of blood that seems overly bright to Brienne’s eyes.

“What do the police say?” Brienne asks, wondering why the office at the front steps hadn’t told them about this.

Pia blinks her large brown eyes, “Police?”

“You’ve called the police, haven’t you?” Jaime asks, his deep voice gentle.

“N-no, I just found this and you were the first people I saw, and—”

Brienne bites back a curse and pulls out her phone.  “I’ll call,” she says briskly, “let’s get back out to the foyer.”

*/*/*/*/*

Detective Robb Stark gives Brienne a small nod of recognition, careful to not let his boss, Chief Detective Randyll Tarly, catch him.  Not that Tarly would have said much, Brienne thinks sourly, considering Robb’s father is Chief of Police.

Tarly stills gives Brienne a harsh glare and she almost wishes she could disappear into the background only Jaime is having none of it.  He’s manoeuvred Pia so she’s now grizzling against Brienne’s shoulder leaving Jaime to deal with the police in what Brienne is coming to realize is his usual overly-smooth manner.

She watches him with a glower on her face and thinks he may be gorgeous but he’s _really_ starting to piss her off.

*/*/*/*/*

They return to the offices of Jaime Lannister Investigations in brooding silence.

“A bit convenient,” she says after they’ve briefed Bronna and Sam on the new developments.

“Very convenient,” Jaime says, a scowl marring his handsome face.  “Too convenient.”  He glances at the others and stands.  “I’m going for a walk.”

“What?” Brienne yelps.  “You’re supposed to be helping us decide where to begin looking!”

Jaime’s smile is mocking.  “That’s exactly what I’m going to find out,” he says and walks away.

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna checks to make sure the man has left then turns to Sam.  “Tell Brienne what you found.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow and looks at Sam.

Sam gulps, his chins quivering, and says, “There’s no Alyxandre Dyle working for the WBI,” he says, “or Petyr Joshua, either.”

Brienne’s eyebrow rises higher.  “And you know this...how?”

Sam’s eyes shift away from hers.  “Plausible deniability,” he mutters.

“Right,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose.  “What else?”

“I did search both names together and came up with one hit,” Sam says and swallows nervously.

Brienne sighs.  “How bad can it be, Sam?”

“It’s not bad, just…odd.”  He slides a piece of paper over to her.  “They’re names of a character from a movie called _Charade_.”

She picks up the paper with a frown.  “And the other two names?” she asks.

“Same character, same movie.  He changes his name several times in the movie.”

Brienne scowls as she scans the names on the list then sighs.  “All right,” she says.  “He’s not even close to being who he says he is.  Anything else?”

Sam shakes his head.

“Fine.  Have you started running background checks on the museum employees like I asked?”

Sam nods.  “But it’s taking a while—there are hundreds of them!”

“Do your best,” Brienne says, “and flag anyone with a criminal record or with a lot of debt.”

Sam nods and scurries back to his cubbyhole of an office. Brienne turns to find Bronna staring at her, arms crossed over her ample chest, foot tapping.

“What?” Brienne demands.

“What are you going to do about— _him_?” Bronna says, jerking her head in the direction...Jaime, for lack of any other name…had taken.

“I’ll see what I can beat out of him in terms of his true identity,” Brienne says, “but in the meantime, we need him.”

“Why?  If he’s exposed as the thief and kidnapper and everyone believes he’s our Jaime Lannister then everything we’ve worked for is down the drain!  Everything you’ve worked for is down the drain!  You’ll never get away with creating a non-existent boss a second time!”

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose again, a headache building between her eyes.  “I know,” she mutters.

Bronna leans closer, her eyes intent.  “You may end up having to let him get away with it all,” she says, then hastily straightens as they hear the outer door to the office open.  Jaime strides into Brienne’s office, his hair ruffled by the breeze outside or mayhaps by running his hand through it.

“All right,” he says briskly, and pauses in mid-stride as he glances from one woman to the other.  For the first time, he looks uncertain.  “What?” he demands.

“No Alyxandre Dyle works for the WBI,” Brienne says coldly.

He smiles a charming smile and despite her suspicion, that smile causes a shiver to go down her spine.  “Would you believe I’m Addam Canfield of Interpol, working out of Braavos?”

Her eyes flick to the paper in front of her.  “No.”

His own eyes go to the paper than back to hers.  “Bryan Cruikshank of the Summer Isles’ MI6?” he asks and laughs.

Brienne glares.  It’s the last name on the list.

She turns to Bronna.  “If you would leave us alone for a moment?” she says.

The door closes and Brienne yells, “And walk away from the door, Bronna!”

“Spoilsport,” Bronna yells back and Brienne hears her colleague grumbling as she walks away.

Brienne turns her angry eyes on the man in front of her.  “No more lies,” she snaps.  “Who are you?”

He shrugs.  “Does it truly matter?  By claiming Jaime Lannister’s identity and having you support it, there no way for you to do anything without sacrificing your firm and reputation—along with your employees’ reputations,” he says and strolls towards her.  “You’d be ruined in this city and in your chosen career.”  He gives her a sharp smile.  “Neither of us want—or need that.  Besides, we both want the same thing:  to recover the sword hilt.”

“And to rescue Dr. Mopatis.”

“I doubt Dr. Mopatis is actually a victim of kidnapping, although I am worried about whoever actually left that blood in his office.”

“He’s the one who stole the hilt?”

“I called some... _contacts_.  There are already rumors in the black market.  Somebody’s trying to sell the hilt—very clumsily, too, I might add.  I expect it’s Dr. Mopatis, but I don’t think it’s the sword hilt that’s truly for sale.”

“You still think something else was stolen.  Something no one else even realizes is gone.”

Jaime—and Brienne curses at how well the name seems to fit the infuriating man—nods.  “I think we need to get into the back rooms of the museum.”

She frowns then nods.  “Nothing else is missing from the exhibit itself,” she mutters.

“So it must be something that wasn’t considered interesting enough to be part of the display.”

“There are thousands of artifacts in that museum,” Brienne says.  “How would we even begin to determine where to start searching?”

Jaime frowns, then says, “Can Sam hack into the museum computers?”

Brienne bristles.  “He’s not a hacker!”

Jaime’s grin is sharply mocking.  “Well, he either hacked the WBI computers or the King’s Landing Police Department’s to discover who is or isn’t on the WBI payroll.  Come on.  Let’s get him to pull up the archives and see what we can find.”

*/*/*/*/*

Sam looks nervous but Brienne easily calms him.  He just as easily pulls up the information from the museum’s secure servers.

“Don’t ask,” Sam mutters when Jaime raises an eyebrow.

“No judgement,” Jaime says, “but I am impressed.  If you’re ever in need of a job…” he trails off and winks.

Sam flushes a little and taps furiously on his keyboard.

“Narrow the search to the Age of Magic,” Brienne says.

“Should we focus only on precious metals?” Bronna asks.  “Jewels?  Things that can be easily broken apart and sold for the value of the materials?”

Jaime gives her a considering look.  “Not a bad idea,” he says, “but the true value to those buying and selling historical artifacts on the black market are the things themselves.  The buyers don’t really care about the monetary value; they just have gigantic boners for owning an authentic piece of history.”

“But what’s the point if nobody can know they own it?” Sam asks.

“ _They_ know it,” Jaime murmurs thoughtfully, “and that’s all they want, really.  It’s a secret only they know, and that, coupled with having something...”  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair and Brienne’s hormones surprise her by surging at the sight. 

“It’s difficult to explain,” Jaime says, “but what they love is the idea of owning a piece of history that no one else will ever have.  They love keeping something locked away, for their eyes only.  It’s a secret, something for them to enjoy where no one else can see.”  He looks at each of them in turn.  “We all have something, don’t we?  Some guilty little secret, some vice that we indulge that we know would blow up in our faces if it ever came to light?”

All three people watching him slowly flush and he grins.  “For these people, it’s not sexual...most of the time,” he says and he laughs as their flushes deepen.  “Whoever has the hilt, though, is not used to the world I move in and is leaving a rather obvious trail right through it—which might actually be the point, if they’re using the hilt to hide what they’re really trying to sell.”  He frowns.  “That will not make many in that world happy and could be downright dangerous if they step on the wrong toes while they bull their way through like a drunken auroch.”

Brienne frowns as well, her mind racing.  “So if it’s the artifact itself that’s important, then it’s rarity must be paramount, correct?”

“Rarity is important, yes, but not necessarily paramount.  Sword hilts—especially gold ones—are rare but what makes this one special is the fact it was found in the same mausoleum as the first Lannister King and his Queen.  They may never have touched it, but its proximity to their tomb alone makes it desirable to some collectors.”

“How about those two slips of paper found clutched in the hands of the first Tarth Queen, and her King?” Brienne says pointedly.  “Wouldn’t those be even more desirable since we know they were actually touched by the monarchs—even if it were only after they were dead?”

Jaime gives her an approving nod.  “If you can find a buyer romantic enough to care,” he says and she flushes a little.  “Most buyers, though, are not interested in the romantic—as in, love—aspect of an historical artifact.  Those slips of paper would be difficult to sell on the black market.”

“What about if they’re supposedly magical?” Bronna asks from where she’s peering over Sam’s shoulder at the screen.

“Again, difficult to move, but there is a steady demand for them, especially if it’s something extremely rare and unusual.”

Suddenly both Jaime and Brienne straighten in their chairs and their gazes collide.

“Bones?” she asks.

“Possibly dragon bones?” he breathes.

Sam and Bronna exchange their own glance and then Sam’s chubby fingers fly over the keyboard.  “Here it is,” Sam says, excitedly and they crowd over his shoulders, peering at the computer screen.

The picture on the screen is most definitely a jawbone, even though it’s not much more than three inches in length.  It’s the tooth embedded in it, however, that make their eyes widen.  Sharp and huge and black as night, the single tooth takes up the entire length of the bone fragment.

“I thought Pia said no one had confirmed which animal this bone was from,” Jaime mutters.

“Either she didn’t know, or she lied,” Brienne says flatly.

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

“I’m thoroughly sick of this place,” Brienne mutters as she and Jaime bound up the steps to the museum.

“Normally, I love places like this,” Jaime says, “but in this case, I’m beginning to agree with you.”

She glowers at him.  “Is it because you’re not going to steal anything else from this place?”

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “I didn’t steal anything in the first place, Brienne!”

“Not from lack of trying,” she snaps, then, “shut up,” she mutters as Pia Peckledon hurries towards them with an anxious look on her face.

“Any news?” she asks, wringing her hands.  “Have you found Dr. Mopatis?”

“Not yet, Dr. Peckledon,” Jaime says, at his most smooth.  “Can you take us to the back room?”

She blinks.  “The back room?” she asks blankly.

“The room with the dragon bone in it,” Brienne says briskly.  “We suspect more artifacts than just the hilt is missing.”

Pia’s expression doesn’t change for a long moment and then realization dawns.  “Oh, my gods!” she gasps, grabs their arms and rushes with them to the storage rooms hidden in the back of the museum.

She stands at the locked door, her face scrunched in a desperate frown before her expression clears and she quickly punches in the combination.  They rush into the room only for Jaime and Brienne to come to sudden halt as they’re confronted with row after row of featureless cabinets.

Brienne shivers in the chill air and says, “The dragon bone,” she says urgently.

Pia frowns even as she quickly leads them down endless corridors.  “We’re not certain it truly is a dragon bone,” she says.  “It was impossible to pull DNA out of it.”

“We’ve seen a picture of it,” Brienne says.  “What else could it be?”

“There are many fossils we have yet to identify, Ms Tarth,” Pia says.  “Many bones that were once thought to belong to dragons have been identified as other things—normal, regular animals, nothing _magical_!”

She stops at a cabinet and pulls open a drawer.  For a long, silent moment, they stare into the empty space then Pia’s face hardens.

“That fucking asshole,” she hisses and slams the drawer shut.

*/*/*/*/*

Pia is pacing her office while Jaime and Brienne keep wary eyes on her every move.

“Dr. Mopatis stole both the hilt and the bone?” Brienne finally says when it seems that Pia isn’t going to do much more than curse creatively.

Pia shakes her head.  “Not Dr. Mopatis.  My husband!  Soon-to-be-ex, actually.  Josmyn Peckledon.  He’s also currently an ex-employee of the museum.”  Her angry eyes flick from one to the other.  “He embezzled several million dollars from the museum’s bank accounts.  It’s one of the reasons we needed to host the gala the other night.  Dr. Mopatis kept it all quiet because we didn’t want the bad publicity just before the new exhibit opened.  Of course, losing two such valuable artifacts isn’t exactly great publicity either!”

“Not to mention the Museum Director,” Jaime says drily.

Pia grimaces.  “Yes, that too,” she mutters then she blinks and frowns.  “Wait.  You thought _Dr. Mopatis_ was behind these thefts?  Have you seen the man?  He can barely make his way round the exhibits when the lights are on let alone in the dark!”

Jaime’s smile is sharp.  “Mayhaps he didn’t work alone,” he says.  Pia blinks uncertainly at him.

“You seem very certain your ex is behind the thefts,” Brienne says, eyes sharp on the woman’s face.  “Why?”

Pia sighs.  “Because Jos talked about stealing the hilt and the dragon bone before he was fired.”  She looks sheepish as she shrugs. “He said he wanted to give me a life of luxury and the only way he could do it would be to sell his soul on the black market—or mayhaps a priceless artifact or two.  When the sword hilt arrived, and then the bone, I could see his mind working.”

“That’s it?  Because you could see his mind working?”

Pia’s smile is bitter.  “And because he was also embezzling money, remember?”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “Who caught him?”

“Doctor Mopatis, of course.  He’s also the museum’s Chief Financial Officer at the moment.  We’ve been short-staffed since Petyr Baelish took that job in the Vale.”

“And where is your ex-husband now?”

“I don’t know,” Pia snaps.  “He was gone when the Gold Cloaks arrived at his door to arrest him for the embezzlement.”  She sniffs.  “He can stay gone, as far as I’m concerned.”

*/*/*/*/*

They run into another wall when they search for activity on Josmyn Peckledon’s credit cards, bank accounts, or social insurance number.  There’s nothing.

Dr. Mopatis, too, remains stubbornly elusive.  No ransom demand is received and no body is found.  When the forensics report finally arrives, they learn the blood on the floor of the Museum Director’s office is from an auroch, not a human.  Jaime and Brienne believe—and the police reluctantly concur—that Dr. Mopatis staged the kidnapping scene and disappeared with both the sword hilt and the dragon bone.  Without more evidence, however, they can prove—and find—nothing.

Even in the world of Jaime’s… _contacts_ , chatter about the sword hilt goes silent in only a day or two, while the dragon bone is never mentioned at all.  The thefts quickly fade from the media, too, and before long, it’s as if the crime never happened…

…except to be remembered as the first time the great detective, Jaime Lannister, failed to crack a case.

*/*/*/*/*

In the offices of Jaime Lannister Investigations, tensions rise—at least in Brienne.  She knows she should tell the man to go, but she can’t quite bring herself to do it.  Not that it matters:  the phone isn’t exactly ringing off the hook since the world learned they were unable to recover the sword hilt or to positively identify those responsible for its disappearance.  She’s just thankful the Chief of Police, Ned Stark, has decided to hold back the fact the dragon bone was also stolen in the hopes that knowledge will someday help identify the perpetrator.

But in the meantime, Brienne needs to tell this… _Jaime_ …to leave.  She looks up as the man in questions strolls into her office, looking magnificent in a suit and tie.

“I have to go,” he says without preamble and she blinks, her heart sinking like a heavy stone into her stomach.

She blinks again, swallows, and says, “I know.”

He’s watching her with a strangely intent look on his face that she doesn’t dare try to decipher.  It doesn’t matter, she tells herself staunchly.  The man’s a thief and a con artist and the sooner he’s out of their lives, the better.

He must see something of her thoughts on her face because he smiles, not quite as sharply mocking as usual, but still a smile that would make her bristle defensively if he hadn’t just told her he was leaving.

“You know,” he says, “for some strange reason, I like you, Brienne, and I’m almost sorry this case has marred your Jaime Lannister’s perfect reputation.  I promise I will find the hilt and return it to the museum.”

Brienne snorts.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she growls.

He stares hard at her then shrugs.  “Walk me out, at least,” he says and there’s challenging amusement underlying his words.

She presses her lips tightly together and lumbers to her feet.  She stalks out into the reception area with him practically tripping over her heels.  He seems so close she can almost feel the heat of him against her back.  She shivers as she bellows for Sam, who scurries from his tiny back-office, and Bronna rises to her feet behind the front desk.

Brienne’s almost thankful for her irritation as they gather round him and she sees true regret on Sam’s and Bronna’s faces.  The bastard’s only been here for a week, she thinks resentfully; they shouldn’t feel so badly to see him go.

Jaime shakes Sam’s hand then Bronna’s, dropping a kiss on her cheek as he does so, then turns to Brienne.

He holds out his hand, palm up, and almost against her will, Brienne places her hand on his.  He raises an eyebrow as he takes a careful look at her short nails, her calloused palm rough against his, but gives her a half-smile that’s almost ruefully fond.  He raises her hand to his lips and presses a lingering kiss against her knuckles.

“It has been a pleasure,” he says, his voice a dark purr, his green eyes never wavering from hers.

Brienne’s knees go weak, her toes curl—thankfully hidden by her sensible shoes—and she finds herself fighting the urge to simper or to burst into tears while begging him to stay.  She settles for giving him an awkward nod and prays to the old gods and the new that he doesn’t realize how reluctantly she pulls her hand from his grasp.

He glances again at Sam and Bronna, nods and then, after one last lingering look at Brienne, turns and walks away.

Brienne watches through the glass door as those impossibly broad shoulders in that impeccably tailored suit turn the corner towards the elevators, and fights the urge to run after him.  He’s a liar and a thief and—

She yelps as Bronna smacks her shoulder.  She turns and scowls at her and sees Sam’s already scurried back to his cubbyhole.

Then Brienne realizes Bronna’s glaring.  “You’re an idiot,” Bronna hisses.  “You should have at least banged him until his cock fell off!”

Brienne blinks then her eyes widen. “That’s a bit... _extreme,_ don’t you think?”

Bronna waves a hand.  “Until it went numb, then.  Gods, Brienne, I despair of you ever getting laid!  What are you going to do once I marry Joffrey?”

Pretty much the same as always, Brienne thinks with a sudden wave of sadness, and mutters, “I’ll be lost without you and you know it.”

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Epilogue

Jaime walks into the darkened house and winds his way to the bar through the dim moonlight shining through the huge windows in the living room.

“Do you suddenly have an aversion to lights?” an amused voice says and Jaime pauses in pouring his drink, squinting against the sudden brightness as a switch is flicked on.

He raises an eyebrow as the speaker, a man, a dwarf with motley coloured hair, mismatched eyes and a grin as familiar as his own, walks into the room.

“I remember what I saw the last time I was here, Tyrion,” Jaime says lightly, “and I’ve only recently been able to bleach it somewhat from my memories.”

Tyrion laughs and climbs up on to the bar stool.  “Poor innocent boy,” he mocks.  “Someday I really will have to take you to some of the finer brothels and introduce you to more women than—”

“Don’t,” Jaime says sharply, and Tyrion has the grace to look chagrined.

“Sorry,” Tyrion mutters and takes a sip from the glass Jaime places in front of him.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I’m getting out,” Jaime says flatly.

Tyrion sputters on his drink and laughs.  “What?  One failure and you think you’re no good anymore?  Has the Golden Boy lost his shine?”

“It’s not the loss of the hilt,” Jaime sighs.  “I just...I don’t want to do this anymore.  I want a real life.”

“You’ll be bored in a week.”

“Mayhaps.  But I would like to find out if I _would_ be bored in a week.  If I am, then I’m sure I could always come back.”

Tyrion shrugs.  “Depends on what you’ve done for that week and what secrets you’ve shared.”

Jaime’s smile is sharp and cold.  “I know better than that.”  He stares off into space then shrugs.  “I know better than most.”

Tyrion considers him thoughtfully and nods.  “True.  If anyone knows our father’s punishments—”

“He’s not our father.”

“—it’s you.”  Tyrion sips his drink again and says, “But that’s not the only reason you’ve come here.”

“No.  I want to recover the sword hilt.  I... _promised_ it would be returned.  I’d like to keep my word.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline.  “You promised?” he says flatly and Jaime gives him a sheepish shrug.  Tyrion shakes his head.  “Let me guess:  you want me to track it down to whichever hidden vault it will soon call home, is that it?”

Jaime nods.  “Once you find it, I’ll retrieve it.”  He smiles, this time more fondly.  “I would not put your life at any more risk than it will be simply trying to find the thing.”

Tyrion sighs.  “You know if he finds out, he’ll never give you another assignment.”

Jaime shrugs.  “I told you:  it’s time for me to retire anyway.”

“You can’t retire,” Tyrion scoffs, “you’re his favorite.  His heir.”

Jaime’s smile is bleak.  “He has you.  He has _her_.”

“ _Her?_   She’s been out for years and you know it.”  Tyrion shakes his head.  “Or you would know it if you ever spoke her name.”

“Don’t,” Jaime says, pleading, and even after all these years the yearning twists deep.

Tyrion shakes his head.  “You’re an idiot,” he says but his tone is fond.  “She was never worthy of you.”

Jaime’s smile is bleak.  “We can’t choose who we love.”

Tyrion sighs.  “No,” he says sadly, “we can’t.  I’ll see what I can do, but you know how Father works.”

“He’s not our father.”

“Thankfully, or you and _her_ would have been illegal!  Regardless, you know how he works.”

Jaime nods.  “Do your best.”

Tyrion’s smile is fond.  “For you, anything.”  Then he frowns.  “What are you going to do while I’m worming my way through Father’s labyrinth to find the sword hilt?”

Jaime’s eyes turn thoughtful.  “I think I have something that might keep me entertained.”  His sudden grin is brilliant.  “At least for a week.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne jumps as a wadded piece of paper bounces off the desk in front of her.  She blinks startled blue eyes at Bronna, who’s standing in the doorway with an exasperated scowl on her face.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes,” Bronna snaps as she strolls inside.  “We haven’t had a single case since Jaime left—”

“He is _not_ Jaime Lannister!”

“I don’t care!  We have no cases and you’ve been moping around for a week now—”

“I am not moping!”

“You are so moping!”  Bronna puts her hands on her hips.  “You’re a detective, Brienne.  If it’s bothering you so much, go find him!”

“Find who?” Jaime asks cheerfully, poking his head round Brienne’s office door.

The look on Bronna’s face as she screeches and spins round is almost worth Brienne’s own startled yelp as she jumps back in her chair.

“How did—?” Bronna gasps, one hand clutching her chest.

“I’ve been in my office all morning,” Jaime says although his green eyes are watchful as he looks at Brienne.  “For such a prestigious firm, we seem to have a paucity of cases.”  He grins.  “Perhaps it’s a good thing I’ve decided to come out of seclusion and take the business in hand.”

He watches with interest as Brienne’s face flushes and she slowly pushes herself to her feet, a murderous gleam in her eyes.

“You,” she sputters, “you—you—you— _you_ —”

“Yes, yes, we can discuss things on the way.”

“Way?  Where?” Brienne demands.

“Didn’t I tell you?  I’ve agreed to an exclusive interview with Lysa Arryn of WBO, announcing my return to public life.  I’ve just finished confirming the appointment.” He raises one golden eyebrow as he waggles his cell phone.  “This interview should get people knocking down the door again…but you may want to prep me on the way to the studio.”

Brienne growls and says, “I may want to hide your body instead!”

“Temper, temper! Is that any way to talk to your boss?” Jaime says with a wicked grin as Brienne stomps past him.  He oofs as she elbows his ribs before he winks at Bronna and follows Brienne out the door.

########

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Yes, this fic takes place in in the same universe as A Dance with Ice and Fire. It wasn’t intentional (I had that epilogue written almost as soon as I’d started that fic), but when this modern AU plot bunny was foisted on me, I couldn’t resist. ;P


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